


piggy back rides and kites

by tonystarkstolemyponcho



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Bethyl Smut Week August 2016, F/M, Foster Care, Reunions, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Timeline What Timeline, bethyl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarkstolemyponcho/pseuds/tonystarkstolemyponcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon has a colourful past, but the only colour he saw was a girl in a yellow dress.</p><p>[In which the Dixon brothers were fostered by the Greene family and Daryl feels himself drawn back years later.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sister](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131073) by [ronsparkyspeirs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronsparkyspeirs/pseuds/ronsparkyspeirs). 



> For the purpose of flow in this fic, ages and timelines have been changed up slightly. Hopefully it isn't too much.  
> This little plot bunny was thought up after reading the masterpiece that was ronsparkyspeirs' 'you better lie down 'cause the angels are watching'.
> 
> No underage sexual content, all takes place later on in their life. Point of views may be switched a bit erratically throughout, and I likely did not proof read this before posting.
> 
> I plan to have three chapters of this fic, and they should be updated pretty quickly.

Daryl Dixon would always remember the day that his mother set fire to their home. He remembered the distinct roar of flames, the heat that scorched his face as he watched it topple to the ground. In a strange way, it was liberating to watch their piece of shit house turn to ashes. It wasn’t as though it was a happy home filled with bright and wonderful childhood experiences. If anything, it had harboured some kind of personal hell for the Dixon brothers. Their Daddy, when around, wasn’t a man you ever crossed – and Daryl had always tried not to. Not that the brute of a man had needed much motivation, what with the liquor running through his veins and the rage that seemed to permanently reside in his soul.

To this day, the younger Dixon still wasn’t sure where their Daddy had run off to after the fire. If anything, the days and weeks that followed were hazy. They all merged into one big summary – survival. Daryl had been eight (almost nine, he’d huff out if Merle said otherwise) at the time, relatively new to the hunting scene that a fourteen-year-old Merle seemed to triumph in. He learned a lot within that time, and fast. Small hands clutched around a hunting knife as Merle blazed the trail, salvaged gun in hand.  
By the time a couple of campers found them, the two of them were covered in a layer of grime that seemed to be permanently etched into their skin. 

They looked like wildlings, cut off from society with no one but each other to rely on. And, in all reality, that was what it had been for a period of time. The Dixon Brothers against the world. Merle had fought tooth and nail by the time the police arrived and, to this day, it was the only time Daryl could remember his older brother fighting to stay by his side. Maybe it was the ferocity in which he fought, or the way that the younger Dixon seized up and bit a police officer when he touched him (to this day, the cop still bore the mark of a sharp little tooth in the junction between his thumb and forefinger) – but they got the message. 

They were sent to a children’s home, one of which had the reputation of being the worst in state (although that reputation may have only came to light after the Dixon brothers inhabited it). They stayed there together for the duration of three months, until Merle figured that enough was enough and that a juvenile delinquent centre was the place for him. The incident that happened that resulted in him being escorted from the home by two police officers was a mystery to Daryl. All he knew was that it must have been bad enough to make the adults who worked there look at him warily now that Merle was gone. Maybe that was why Daryl, too, was moved not long after – because the Dixon brothers had crazy blood, and who wanted to deal with that?

The answer to that question was Herschel and Annette Greene.

Daryl remembered them vividly. 

Herschel was a tall, stocky man and, in contrast, his wife was a petite little thing with wispy blonde hair and teeth so bright Daryl thought that she must have put stars in her mouth. The two of them were soft spoken and stern in a way that Daryl wasn’t used to – a way that didn’t make him close in on himself and wait for some kind of impact. Herschel had smiled softly at him and called him ‘son’ even though they had never met before, and Annette didn’t even try to coax him to communicate past nods and the slightest shake of his head. They didn’t push, not at the beginning when things were so new to him.

They brought him back to their home two days later, which was a three-hour drive away from the home that Daryl had never once felt like he belonged to. But, then again, what child ever belonged in a home? 

The drive consisted of Herschel and Annette talking to him rather than at him, looking back to see if he would respond to any of their questions past a nod or a brisk shake of his head. Which he never did, and wouldn’t do for another two weeks. 

And the reason behind him breaking his endless silence was a small bundle clad in yellow.

Meeting the rest of the Greene’s was relatively uneventful, for the most part. Shawn Greene was around Merle’s age, but that was where the similarities ended. Daryl had found himself watching Shawn in awe for the first couple of days, noting how he never once swore or raised his voice or threatened – almost as though it was difficult to believe someone who hit that age didn’t turn into a carbon copy of his older brother. Shawn, in distinct contrast, wasn’t at all in awe of the scrawny kid that had ended up living in their household. Rather just accepted it as a fact, introduced himself briefly and got on with life.

Maggie Greene was a whirlwind. Only a couple of months younger than Daryl and she initially scrutinized him like the trespasser he felt he was. Herschel had smiled fondly at his feisty daughter as she immediately sized Daryl up (not that there was much to size up at that time) and ‘questioned his intentions’. Daryl had only looked back at her with wide eyes concealed behind too-long hair and sent a fleeting glance up towards Annette, who chuckled and told Maggie to take it easy on him. 

The moment Maggie stepped away and back to her father’s side, all Daryl saw was a vision in yellow. Or, more exactly, a wobbly, unsteady toddler ambling towards him – throwing stick thin arms around him and proclaiming, “welcome to the family!” in a lisp that even Daryl recalled as being downright adorable. But if anyone questioned him on the matter (not that there was anyone around to do so), he would deny it till his grave. To this day, Daryl still wasn’t sure what drove the youngest Greene to imprint on the youngest Dixon like a downright duckling – but she did. The kid was barely three and her favourite thing to do would be to wake Daryl up in the mornings by shoving her entire stuffed bunny collection in his face. 

“You tryna kill me?” were the first words out of his mouth in all of the sixteen days he had stayed with the Greene’s.  
One wouldn’t have thought that Beth had just been accused of attempted murder considering the wide beam that spread out over her face – baby teeth small against her gums, baby blues twinkling up at him. 

Maybe from that moment onwards, Daryl imprinted on Beth Greene too.

 

In the months that followed, the two were inseparable. To the extent that even Herschel expressed his concern to his wife one day as they watched the two play outside. Or, more exactly, as Beth (unsuccessfully) tried to fly a kite with Daryl on a day that not even a gust of wind graced their land. Eventually Daryl got the gist of that and, to save them all from a teary Beth’s wrath, hoisted the little girl onto his back and ran with the kite through the yard. It hardly picked up any traction in the air – but the happy squeals from Beth made it seem as though they were up soaring with the kite. 

“Now how could you be worried ‘bout that?” Annette replied to her husband’s ramblings, swatting him lightly on the stomach with a fond smile on her face. And even Herschel couldn’t keep the soft smile off his face.

Considering Daryl’s likeness in age to Maggie, one would have thought that they would have become closer friends than what Daryl had formed with a three-year-old. And while they got on better than Shawn’s passive association with the foster kid in their care, they never clicked like Beth and Daryl.

Which was exactly why, by the time summer ended and Daryl was due to start school with Maggie, Beth didn’t take all too kindly to it. For such a small girl, she could sure pick up a fuss that only Daryl could seem to calm down. He told her that it was only for a couple of hours a day, and that they’d have plenty of time to play afterwards. She confined in him that she was worried he’d leave her, and he promised that he’d never do that. 

That he’d never leave her like Merle left him in the end.

Not that Merle could stay out of the picture for too long, considering his sentence at juvie eventually finished up and he was shipped right back to where he started – only to find his little brother’s absence. He must have kicked up some kind of fuss considering that, half way through the school year (where Daryl felt like he was getting into the swing of things, actually attempted homework he had no notion as to what to do if it weren’t for Maggie, and for once felt like he belonged to something) Merle came to the farm.  
And just like that, Daryl would have reverted back to past ways if it weren’t for Beth who corrected Merle something fierce when he called him Darylina. 

The older Dixon was welcomed into the Greene household with the same warmth that Daryl was, but Merle never responded well to it. But, then again, that was just how Merle was. Daryl had always wondered if the only reason why they allowed Merle to stick around was because Beth had bonded so much with Daryl. If Merle left, Daryl would have to as well.

Dixon blood might be crazy, but they stuck together. Or at least Daryl attempted to. 

Daryl wasn’t sure how Will Dixon managed to swing them back into his care again, or why the hell he wanted to, but it happened – around a year and a half after Merle arrived on the Greene farm. Merle, in contrast to his brother, seemed elated by the opportunity of getting out of the system.

“Freedom, short-stuff!” he had crowed, hands thrown up and all in celebration.

Daryl didn’t think of it as freedom. If anything, he thought it was just as suffocating as the smoke from the fire their mother had lit. 

Freedom, in Daryl’s mind at that time, was in the form of green fields and a big barn house – with someone who had a monstrous collection of stuffed bunnies and too many yellow dresses. 

 

It was two years until Daryl stepped foot on Greene property again. 

He was just about to turn thirteen when Will Dixon lost the rag again and got lost himself. This time Daryl didn’t have Merle to fall back on, or a house to watch burn. He had a damn shack and a couple of hunting knives to keep him company. He had gotten good at hunting at that stage, able to keep the freezer stocked up and keep himself from starving. School was a forgotten concept by that stage, and nobody in the area gave much of a shit about the white trash that lived in the fringes of the forest so it went unnoticed for a while. 

What didn’t go unnoticed, however, was when Daryl went to the local hunting supplier – eyeing up the crossbows hanging up on the walls. 

And he had just been struck with a sudden desire of _want_. 

Maybe he wanted to get caught, or maybe he just really wanted a damn crossbow for some reason.

Regardless, he was brought back into the system and within three weeks – back to the Greene’s who welcomed him with open arms. It didn’t even seem like he had been away from them, that was how seamlessly they made him feel like he belonged. Shawn even ruffled his hair and asked him if he was going to be stuck at that height forever – and Beth, his Beth, had yelled at her older brother for being mean to Daryl and that his height was just fine.

Daryl didn’t stop smiling until after dinner.

 

For his thirteenth birthday two months later, Herschel and Annette got him a crossbow.

Beth had squealed in delight and demanded he show her how to use it, even if she didn’t quite know what it was. So he did. And he laughed harder than he had in a long time when she fell flat on her ass after trying to pick it up.

For Daryl’s fourteenth birthday, he was given a manila envelope.

The entire Greene family sat around the kitchen table, waiting for him to open it. 

And when he did, Daryl very nearly started crying. Beth was the only one who didn’t avert her eyes to give him some privacy – and if the phone hadn’t have started ringing, Beth would have seen him shed more than a couple of tears. 

That year, Daryl stayed a Dixon and that manila envelope stayed in the Greene household – while Daryl did not.

 

The next time Daryl went near Greene property, he was thirty years old.


	2. The Middle

If someone asked Daryl what he was doing on this side of Georgia, he wouldn’t have been able to answer them. Then again, there were very few people in his social circle that would do so. 

Very few meaning an extremely precise zero.

But if he was going to be honest with himself, it was because he was he was too weak to ignore a craving to come back here. He deserved some kind of credit, considering he had actively avoided driving those three hours in the last sixteen years. Not that he had never once wanted to – he did. And often. When he did sleep, images of wide green fields and a rickety old barn (one that he used lie down in with a vision in yellow, and watch the stars through the hole in the roof until the kindest woman Daryl had ever met called them back inside) often filled his thoughts.

The moment he woke up, he reminded himself that he had no damn business thinking of that place again. Like he had any claim on it in the first place. 

Conflicting thoughts were running through his head as he rode into the small town he had almost called home an age ago. He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb here, in this hick town. Then again, it was rare that he didn’t.

With a loud motorcycle, leather jacket, long hair and tattoos to boot – Daryl Dixon was seemingly the image of the very redneck the Greene’s had told him he never had to be.  
He wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to see the look on Annette or Herschel’s face if they saw him now, knew what waste he had lay to his life. It wasn’t as though Daryl was a dredge on society. He didn’t contribute much, and he sure as hell didn’t take much neither. A couple of packets of cigarettes and some petrol and he was on his way. Not like Merle, who had happily upgraded from the Dixon shack to a government owned home until he either left or got kicked out.

There had been times in the last sixteen years that Merle was around. Somewhere between juvie and his big brother’s freedom, he had joined the military forces (how he got accepted was a damn mystery to Daryl) and returned home for a brief period of time before losing his freedom once again because of his temper. The Dixon temper that Daryl could feel boil beneath his own surface.

What right did he have to bring that shit back here?

The moment he asked himself that question he stopped on the side of the pavement, jaw locked.

He was about five seconds from turning his bike right around the way he came and head back to Atlanta or something, until a very blunt force hit the side of his bike.

Daryl had been thrown off of his motorcycle before (it was kind of a hazard that came with riding one of those death traps, as Herschel had called them), so he knew exactly what happened when his back hit the pavement. It was only a light tap – but enough to knock both him and the bike over.

“You tryna fuckin’ kill me or somethin’?!” Daryl barked out as the door of the car opened, shuffling himself back from his overturned bike. It was a damn miracle his legs weren’t trapped underneath it.

“I am so sorry!” a voice as sweet as sugar replied, hurrying from the driver’s car door to where he was pushing himself up off of the pavement. “I didn’t even see you on that corner. Didn’t someone ever teach you not to stop on corners?”

If she said anything after that, Daryl was completely oblivious to it – eyes locked on the woman that was standing in front of him. She had hair the colour of honeysuckle, both tied back from her face and falling in tendrils around it. Her features were soft and youthful, eyes wide and blue. She was at least half the size of him, but stood like she didn’t give a damn about that.

Those baby blues just kept looking at him, and Daryl was rooted to the damn spot. He couldn’t move, shoulders tensed and stance unmoving.

“You even listening to me?” Beth asked, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly to study the man in front of her. He definitely wasn’t from around here (must be passing through, she assessed, considering that she hadn’t heard anything about any newcomers), and he certainly wasn’t like any other man she had seen before. Not on this side of Georgia.

He looked like the kind of man Maggie had bought her pepper spray for, but Beth didn’t have any need to use it. Not when he was standing there like he was star struck over something fierce. She narrowed her gaze even more so on him, even glancing behind her to see if there was anything else he was staring at.

“Did you bump your head or something?” she asked. “D’you need a doctor? My Daddy used to be a vet, he could take a look at you –“

She was cut off by a grunt and a shake of his head, shaggy hair hardly moving with the motion (that just made her wonder how long it had been since this man had a bubble bath).   
“Jus’ watch where you’re goin’ next time, girl,” he grunted, voice sending chills down Beth’s spine. Which had never happened to her before, on account of a voice. There had only been a handful of times in Beth’s life that she had felt a shiver down her spine. The one most similar to now being when Jimmy had /finally/ figured out what to do with his damn hands – if even just for a brief second. The other times being far more innocent, including a fond memory she had when she was younger – when she felt like she was flying. 

And that was when it clicked.

Beth looked at the man again – took in the leather jacket, the grime, the overgrown hair. Heck, even the thin lips that she could just about see. Beth didn’t even hesitate for a moment.

“Daryl!” 

It was like she was three years old again (not that she remembered their first meeting, that had been far too early for her), meeting him for the first time. Thin arms wrapped around a broad chest as she nuzzled against him – inhaling the scent of tobacco smoke, oil and Daryl’s own natural musk. He smelt manly, and not in the way Jimmy or Shawn did.

But he sure as hell didn’t smell like the bubble bath they had both used them they were kids.

Beth wasn’t entirely sure how long she stayed like that, and neither was Daryl. He was far too taken aback by the entire situation to move, standing rigid against her warm hold – far too conscious of the breakable woman that had latched herself onto him.

Because that was what Beth was now, wasn’t it? A woman. 

Daryl had always thought that, if he ever met Beth again, he’d see the sweet little girl that would braid weeds she thought were flowers into his hair – the little girl who he walked hand and hand with to the bus stop every time they were to school. 

But she was nowhere to be seen, and yet everywhere. 

He allowed himself a brief moment to lean down, smelling just a touch of lavender and paint from her – a broad and calloused hand resting against the small of her back. That was before he pointedly cleared his throat and Beth eventually pulled back, beaming up at him.

“You came back to visit, didn’t you?” she asserted, hardly stepping back. Why else would he be here? It wasn’t as though their town had much to offer as a tourist stop, and their gas station wasn’t even in the town – but a couple of miles out from it. The only reason why he’d be passing through would be to get to their farm.

Daryl stayed silent and Beth only took that as confirmation of her previous assumption, grinning even more broadly than before.

“Everyone’s gonna be so happy,” she told him, small hand sliding into his own as though they hadn’t not seen each other in sixteen years. Like he wasn’t some white trash, and she wasn’t a good girl who had no business talking to him. “They’re not gonna believe this. I don’t believe this,” Beth gushed.

Realistically, she knew this man in front of her was a virtual stranger. A lot of things could happen in the space of time that he had been away from the Greene family – and one glance at him could attest to that. But that didn’t make a damn difference in the slightest. She had never quite stopped referring to the Daryl in her memories as her Daryl, because that was who he had been to her. 

A best friend, a protector. Her Daryl, summed up in one.

Time couldn’t change that. At least not for long.

It took a lot of convincing on her part, but she managed to get Daryl Dixon to follow her back to the farm on his bike. She had suggested driving him in the car, but there was apparently no way in hell he was leaving his bike abandoned on the side of the road.

And just in case he decided to drive off into the distance, Beth kept checking her review mirror – smile splitting her face every time she reassured herself the figure in black was following her car (which, wow, was never a thought she thought she’d have).

It took a half an hour to get back to the farm, and Daryl just felt at ease the moment he pulled his bike to a halt and got off – peering around. Everything looked the same, right down to a t. Although he did have to narrow his eyes at the barn – the thing that should had rotted away years ago, if he remembered the condition of it correctly.

“Shawn wanted to build another one,” Beth explained when she noticed him staring, hands in the pockets of her jeans – momentarily glancing down to perfectly clean boots, “but I convinced Daddy not to let him… place holds too many memories.”

Daryl only huffed in response, even though they both damn well knew those memories were held by the two of them.

There was a silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, at least for Daryl who had to fight to keep his eyes away from Beth. The younger woman, in contrast, openly looked at him – as though committing him to memory just in case he happened to leave again. Because that was essentially what had happened, he left. He could have fought his case to stay, but he didn’t. He chose to stay a Dixon and go back to a place he never wanted to be.

The roar of the engine must have been enough to rouse interest within the house, considering the fact that the porch door swung open not moments later to reveal none other than Herschel Greene – who didn’t seem particularly happy with the presence of a motorcycle on his land, or even the leather clad man that was standing a touch to close to his youngest daughter.

“Bethy, who’s this?” he asked, tone low and gaze wary and intent on Daryl. By sheer instinct, Daryl lowered his gaze even slightly from the man who had definitely aged over the years (from the deep set lines in his face, to the white patches of hair on his head) only to note the distinct absence of his leg. 

“Daddy, it’s Daryl,” Beth said, snapping Daryl out of his pretty blunt gawk towards Herschel’s missing limb. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen someone with a missing limb before, but this was a man that was as healthy as a damn horse when he had seen him last. “Daryl Dixon,” she continued taking that final step towards the older man, slipping her hand back into his own. 

Beth’s eyes were on her Daddy, watching how he took in Daryl’s appearance. She could practically see what was running through the man’s mind, images of Beth and Daryl (both far younger) hand in hand like this. 

“It’s been a while, Daryl,” was all Herschel said, his features softening ever so slightly (although he didn’t even try to conceal his disapproving glances towards the bike) as he outstretched a hand for the other to shake. 

Honestly, it took Daryl a couple of moments to register why the hell his hand was outstretched before he shook it firmly. He remembered Herschel always telling him to have a firm handshake, that it demanded respect and showed character.

“Mhm,” Daryl responded with a roll of his shoulders, dropping his hand from Herschel’s. But then the older man struck him with a look that made Daryl clear his throat and gruffly say, “yessir.”

Herschel was instantly appeased by that.

“Why don’t you come inside?” he then said, almost as though Beth was going to keep him outside (which, even she would admit, she’d do if conversation started to flow at least half as freely as it had when they were kids). “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“Are Maggie and Glenn here yet?” Beth inquired lightly, the second name entirely unfamiliar to Daryl. Not that he was too phased by that, they likely had a lot of new people in their lives. But when Beth proceeded to explain that Glenn was Maggie’s fiancé, even he couldn’t keep the apprehensive look on his face – earning a chuckle from the two Greene’s.

But who could blame him?

Maggie had always been against the idea of being with boys, scoffing whenever a friend told her that some guy in her class fancied her. Daryl recalled Herschel being undeniably relieved when that attitude followed her into the start of her teenage life, but apparently that didn’t even last.

It really made Daryl just think if Beth was with anyone. Looking at her now, he saw no reason why. Any hick kid in this town would be lucky to have a girl like her. Hell, any guy would.

Rather than dwelling on that (because that was what he was doing, really, dwelling on it and wondering what kind of guy had caught Beth’s eye, if he treated her right), he followed them inside – Beth just about stuck to his side like glue. And he’d be a downright liar if he said that it felt anything but nice. 

The interior of the house looked and even smelt the exact same as his memory served. Pictures adorning the walls, some were new and most were old. Although Daryl did back track a couple of steps when he noted a picture of him featured on the wall. Two, actually. One by himself, on the day that he got his crossbow – the elated smile on his face rare, but sincere. And the second being one of the Greene Christmas cards, the entire family sitting on the steps of the house – grins wide and arms around one another.

Daryl’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

“Maggie, look who Bethy dragged in off the street,” Herschel called, interrupting a chorus of snorting laughter from the eldest Greene daughter.

“Who? So not another injured bird?” she replied in a teasing tone, earning an eye roll from Beth as she walked into the kitchen – Daryl following suit. 

“Well he does have wings now, apparently,” Beth quipped back, taking a glance at Daryl’s back to see if she was correct. To see if he had two broad angel wings over the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

Maggie didn’t get the chance to question that before turning around, the smile that was present on her face suddenly dropping for a couple of moments. At the same time, Daryl was taking Maggie in. She seemed to be Beth’s contrast, even now. Tall as opposed to slight, dark hair, and curvy – having grown into herself and held herself in a way that said just that. 

The thing that made it click was the close proximity in which her sister stood to him and, honestly, Maggie knew her sister like an open book. If she had a piece of rough in her life, Bethy wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret for long. So by process of elimination (and by the darn way his hair covered most of his face), Maggie got it without further prompting.

“Daryl Dixon,” she stated, neither a greeting or looking for confirmation. “You go and join a biker gang on us?”

And it was by that statement alone that told Daryl that Maggie hadn’t changed at all, not in the important ways. 

“Nah, not yet,” he replied, low tone just the touch of a tease – but it was enough to make Beth laugh and, shit, he didn’t realise how much he had missed the damn sound of that. That wasn’t normal. Missing someone’s laugh. Especially a laugh as loud and nasally as Beth’s. But Daryl liked it. Always had. Like her laugh was too big for her body. 

Within the next few moments, the toilet flushed from down the hall and footsteps made their way to the kitchen. The man, presumably Glenn, took two steps into the room, saw Daryl, and took one step back out before correcting himself and continuing in.

Beth allowed herself a quiet giggle, noting the apprehension on Glenn’s face and how he raised a hand in a small wave to the new arrival.

“Hey, man.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, only nodded. He looked nothing like what he had expected a fiancé of Maggie’s to look. But, heck, he never expected Maggie to have a fiancé in the first place. 

“Glenn, this is Daryl. He was almost a Greene a long time ago,” Maggie introduced them (because apparently Daryl wasn’t going to make the effort), “don’t expect him to talk too much. Daryl here didn’t a thing until Bethy annoyed him enough to.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Beth asserted, brows furrowed.

“Tried to kill me with yer damn rabbit,” replied Daryl, noting the momentary surprise on Beth’s face when he cursed – not yet realising why until Herschel spoke.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and shower, you look like you need it,” the older man not-so-suggested, making his way to the stove to stir whatever was calmly simmering away on there, “and while you’re at it, maybe wash your mouth out with soap.” 

It was said in such a dry way that reminded Daryl just how damned sassy that old man could be, much to the sisters’ amusement. 

“I’ll get you a towel,” Beth offered, tugging him out of the kitchen before Daryl could get a word in edgeways about whatever he wanted a shower or not. It wasn’t as though showering was a huge priority on the road, streams and public bathrooms did just fine to get him by. But he got their point, and if he was going to have access to running water – he might as well take advantage of it.

Beth was all smiles on the way upstairs and, strangely, enough silent. She had far too much to say to fit it into the six second walk up their narrow staircase. So she got him the towel and pushed it into his hands as she told him, “I’ll see you downstairs for dinner,” as though he didn’t have any choice in the matter. Which, in all reality, he didn’t. He could be completely crass and just walk out of here without a word (although a fleeting thought crossed his mind about slashed tires), but he didn’t. He just nodded, shut the door behind him and started peeling off layers of clothing that he hadn’t been out of in god knew how long.

The warm water was almost like heaven on aching muscles. Daryl wasn’t one to take a lot of liberties in his life regarding personal luxuries. He didn’t usually want them, and he sure as hell didn’t need them. But showers definitely didn’t fall into that category for him, and as much as he’d hate to admit it – he loved taking them. The pressure wasn’t much, but it was enough to cause his skin to tingle and tired muscles feel momentarily soothed. Daryl was, essentially, in a daze as murky water began to run clear.

Until the bathroom door opened and, instinctively, Daryl pulled back the curtain to see who it was. It wasn’t as though he thought it was anyone other than who lived in the house (and if anything, he was the one trespassing here), but it was instinctive to be on guard.

But it was only Beth, peeping in through the door with an armful of clean clothes – openly gawking at him, mouth formed into the shape of a perfect o.

Despite the fact that the shower curtain covered the majority of his naked form, his hair was moved back from his face, and the arm holding the curtain back was very, very bare.

Christ Almighty.

Beth, like every person so inclined, could appreciate an attractive man when they saw one – and all that was standing between Beth and one was a very thin shower curtain. His face was void of any boyish softness that she had been used to, jaw sharp and features angular. And his arms were, well, undoubtedly muscular. Taunt and bulging from… whatever Daryl did nowadays. She didn’t quite know what that was yet.

All she knew was that she really wanted to touch his arms. Or everything, really.

“I..I brought you some of Shawn’s clothes,” she said in way of explaining her presence, as though her holding clothes wasn’t self-explanatory. Beth could feel herself blushing to her roots. “They should fit.” Should being the operative word as she took back in broad shoulders and biceps and… she definitely needed to get out of there.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“Yes, yes you do,” Beth asserted before dropping the pile on the floor and gathering Daryl’s own clothes – backing out of the room far more quickly than she had come in. She shut the door firmly behind her, resting her back against the sturdy wood while she got a hold of herself. 

When Beth got back downstairs, she bypassed the kitchen to put Daryl’s clothes in the laundry hamper, only to have Maggie call, “Jesus, Beth, you go running or something?” right after her – which didn’t do anything to help her blush.

By the time Daryl made his way back downstairs, dinner was just being served up and he had never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. Or, if he did, he sure as hell couldn’t remember it. The pants he wore were tight around the thighs made walking seem far more of a chore than it should be, and the last time Daryl had worn a short sleeved shirt that didn’t have the sleeves torn out of it was either his vest or when he went to school. He was even barefoot, dammit. 

“That’s better,” Herschel commented lightly, and that was sure one word for it. But Daryl didn’t say anything to contest it, rather just took the only free seat at the dinner table – which happened to be beside Beth. Which wasn’t unusual, that had been his seat when he had been here. 

They said grace (or Daryl held hands with Beth and a very hesitant Glenn and kept his mouth shut) after Beth sent him a warning glance the moment he picked up his fork before it was time. Herschel led it, which Daryl had to question. Or at least question in a different way, because Annette was always the one to say grace first.

“So what have you been up to, Daryl?” Herschel inquired once they started eating, Daryl’s shoulders hunched and all semblance of table manners seemingly forgotten. 

“Nothin’ much,” he shrugged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand – feeling Glenn’s eyes on him in a form of morbid fascination.

“There’s gotta be somethin’,” Beth insisted, eyes bright and full attention on him, “can’t have been doing nothin’ for near sixteen years.” 

Daryl didn’t say much to that, which really just said it all and filled in the pieces that the Greene’s already had. They had enough of a knowledge on the Dixon background to know exactly where he was coming from, and why a man like him might just get on a bike and keep moving. 

“Merle!” Maggie interjected, obviously picking up on what everyone else had (Glenn excluded from the equation), “how’s he getting on?”

“Been in prison for the past year.”

And that topic deflated like a lead balloon. It was silent for a couple of more moments before Glenn piped up about wedding planning details, a topic that was superficial enough to be distracting – and Beth was always someone who would be swept up by it, throwing in her two cents on the matter, but not today. Today something else held her attention, or more specifically the man right beside her that slurped as spaghetti as though it was a damn drink. 

After dinner, Beth was assigned to washup considering that Daryl was a guest and that the other three had made the meal – and Daryl knew the system well enough not to interject on the matter and just keep his mouth shut.

At multiple points throughout the meal, he had considered just leaving. But then he recalled that his feet were entirely exposed, and as hardy as they had gotten over the years – it was damn difficult to go anywhere without boots. 

Conversation flowed easily enough, Beth chiming in every so often from her isolation in the kitchen, and Daryl was free to just observe. Take in how utterly taken Glenn was with Maggie, and how that was most definitely mutual. And, yeah, he was happy for them. As happy as a practical stranger could be for a sickly sweet couple such as them.   
Eventually, Maggie and Glenn figured it late enough to leave to their own home – which was apparently just on the other side of town. Daryl wondered about Shawn, and where he had gotten off to – but he didn’t ask. Nor did he ask about Annette, assuming the two of them were off somewhere together. Beth walked the two of them out to their car, leaving Daryl and Herschel in the stilling warmth of the living room. 

Daryl tried not to make it obvious that he was affected by Herschel’s intense gaze, but downright failed at that.

“Your room’s still set up,” he said, abruptly breaking the silence, “we’ve been using it as a guest room for the last couple of years, but not much has changed. You’re free to stay in it.”

Daryl’s lip twitched ever so slightly. “Nah, it’s –“

“I wasn’t asking.”

“’course not,” Daryl huffed lightly, eyes flicking up to the old man sitting in the chair across from him – all too aware that he had yet to say his piece.

“Now I know you had no say with what went on when you were a boy,” he disclaimed, using minimal hand gestures, “but you have a say now. And I trust you to speak up, son, as much as Bethy likes doing that for you.”

And wasn’t that the damn truth.

“So stay the night and go from there,” the older man concluded, giving Daryl a single nod, “something tells me you don’t have another place to go anyways.”

For what must have been the tenth time that night, Daryl’s silence answered him perfectly.

Beth gave him another hug before they went to bed, and she had to hold herself back from just sitting cross legged on his bed (because it had always stayed Daryl’s bed) and just catch up. But she had work the following day, and Daryl looked a little drained anyway.

As they lay in their beds, both on different sides of the house, their minds were on a very similar topic.

And if their thoughts happened to wander into far less innocent territory, then who was to know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go, which will be the longest one and will contain the smut we're all here for.
> 
> I'm very tempted to spin off this series into little oneshots based on various points of their lives together, but this will be completed first.


End file.
